


Aerial

by forgottentear



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Castiel Whump, Dick Roman Being an Asshole, Escape, Heavy Angst, Hurt Castiel, Isolation, Kidnapping, M/M, Past Lives, Prison, Professor Castiel, Science Experiments, Smart Sam Winchester, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-05-24 15:38:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14957372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forgottentear/pseuds/forgottentear
Summary: Dean Winchester has always lived in the town of Colorado Springs, he is a bartender at the Roadhouse, which means beautiful chicks in plain sight for him, a nice glass always available, possibility to chat and flirt a gogò, at least when Aunt Ellen does not call him back 'order and decor with a nice whisk of dishcloth on the backside. His life is upset when he falls madly in love with Professor Castiel Novak, a young natural talent of science, and soon his life will be dragged into a vortex of events that are rooted in the past, in the greed of human power, in the manipulation of science, in the hope of a better afterlife. A story of passions, brotherhood, loyalty, love, courage and sacrifice, until the tragic epilogue.





	1. prologue

This story comes from a dream I had one night; it is a fairly complex story and I hope some parts will not be too heavy, but they are all somehow necessary for the progress of the story. It is certainly a story Destiel, but not only: there will be a plot of other characters and events, although the plot Destiel remains the most important part. The heavy angst (but really heavy) will start only in the finishing line, but do not worry because I will put them all XD And now the warning that will make me lose two thirds of readers: MCD. One of our two heroes will eventually die. I'm sorrysorrysorry but ,,, I thought so and I want it to go like this. I recommend you review and know that I'm always open to criticism, observations, and theories ... English is not my mother tongue so please be kind !!! #########################################

 

"Stay away from that place" their parents said. A slightly forbidden place, a bit worn, the long red slide that ran in the middle of the woods under the abandoned power plant. If you raised your face at the start, you could see the first pylons of the immense construction, just above. No one apparently remembered who built it, or why. It was always there, worn, now scratched, in some places bruised and unsafe. It was their favorite pastime, as kids, slipping out of the usual park behind the house and climbing behind the mountain, the drier and barren part, and then penetrated into the larch wood, up, until the departure of the red slide. They were competing for those who arrived earlier, for those who came home with their hands more dirty than dirt, their hands more sticky with resin and the biggest breath.

 

It was a closed slide, more like a big pipe to tell the truth, but wide enough for a person to lie down inside, and some features were stuck in the rock and could not be seen from the outside. But one day Dean had tried to penetrate one of the cracks in the rock, he had been able to put only a tiny pocket light bulb, and he had seen strange symbols on the rock face at the slide. At that point in the woods it was cold, a strange cold and damp, and silence. No little bird, not even the wind. And it was a dark place, the foliage was dense and lush, almost helping to keep the secret of what was written in that mysterious point of the red slide. In his boyish mind, he had dreamed of being messages of some alien or primitive race, but it had also scared him a little, and he had never returned. Sometimes, at the end of the slide, the morning after a rainy night, a blackish liquid dripped. "It's dirty, mother" "Stay away from there," Mary repeated sternly, but Dean giggled eating his pancakes and never took his mother seriously.

 

Until, after several years, when Dean was 26 and Sam 22, he had heard helicopters flying over his house one night. Nobody understood where they went or where they came from. Dean had found his father still, at the window, in the dark, with his eyes lost. "What's wrong, Dad?" "Nothing, go back to sleep son. They will have caught the usual smugglers in the woods ". The morning after the end of the slide was blocked. Closed with heavy planks of wood and other material, and the area was bordered by red and white bars. "Danger, do not get close," said the signs. The rumors whispered that the plant was about to be restored and put into operation after being destroyed by fire many years ago. John had heard the news frowning and had been strangely taciturn that day. Dean was no longer playing the slide for at least ten years now, but that night he dreamed of the strange symbols he had glimpsed years ago in the crack of the rock: he was there, and stood before him, but did not understand, did not even remember how they were.

 

Then he heard a scream. A human scream, of pain, of atrocious pain, as if someone were suffering the pains of hell. He heard a rumble cross the old slide, and woke up drenched with sweat and his heart pounding in his chest.

 

At that same moment, in a Victorian villa covered with climbing ivy, a man shook his gloved hand on a crystal glass filled to the brim with brandy. "Go ahead, Esther," he whispered faintly to the maid who, standing behind him, was waiting for orders. As soon as the woman came out, the man turned a heavy brass key into the lock of an old antique wooden drawer. Here it is. Yellowed by time, with folded edges, stains of who knows what liquid that had faded the ink with which, with a fluttering calligraphy, had been written "Op. Aerials, 1960 ". The man smiled to himself. "Well, it seems that the time has come to declare the dances open".


	2. Little stars and little angels

Dean remembered the day when Sam had received his first true telescope as a gift.

 

On July 19th of his tenth birthday. Sam had pulled him out of bed at six in the morning and all excited he had dragged him into the living room, and almost Dean did not pull back sheets, blankets and everything. The fresh summer morning air came in through the open windows, the pearl-colored light of dawn filtered through the immaculate curtains and Dean breathed for a moment the smell of fresh dew, it was one of his favorite smells, shining on the grass emerald of their garden. Mary had already prepared the table for breakfast the night before, with the colorful tablecloth theme cupcakes (the tablecloth "of birthdays"), the multicolored streamers that fell ringed by the chandelier and the giant cardboard writing "Happy Birthday Samuel" that it occupied half the hall.

 

Dean would have preferred to head straight to the refrigerator, which tasted full of multicolored donuts and caramel and hazelnut tartlets, the brother's favorite, but the latter had dragged him to the huge package wrapped in silver paper with blue stars that stood next to the sofa.

"Sammy, you do not want to open it before mom and dad ..." "Look Dean !! I knew it, I knew that they gave it to me !! Look it's great ... " And he continued to hop around the parcel, touching the paper and smoothing the corners with almost reverential eagerness.

"Look, here I bet there is the primary primary mirror, here the secondary and then who knows what filters I will have bought dad, spectroscopes and plate holders ... I wonder if the diameter of the lens reaches 50 mm ..." Dean listened dazed and at the same time with a heart full of pride for the intelligence of his little brother, he had understood practically nothing of what Sam was telling him but knew his passion for the stars well and was happy that the parents had finally decided to please him.

Ever since their mother was very small, when they put them to bed, gently caressing their faces, she told them that the angels were watching over them and that they would not allow anything bad to happen during the night. Dean enjoyed only the caresses of his mother gloating happily, but Sam had just been able to put up two sentences, since very small, had begun to storm the mother of questions "But where do the angels live? In heaven, but why do not I see them? But does every angel have a star? What are the stars mom? " These curiosities for Sam were soon transformed into a real passion for astronomy, his room looked like a gravitational station, full of paper and plastic planets, posters of stars, toy telescopes placed expertly in the windows where, Dean could stay sure, every night before bed he would find his little brother.

Sam had grown up proving to be an increasingly intelligent and discerning boy, silent and a little introverted, quiet and patient, exactly the opposite of that powder fire always on the verge of breaking out that was Dean. Dean could not understand how his brother could stay so long at the desk lost in books of strange and complicated astronomical calculations; he had friends, yes, he had a beautiful girl named Jessica (to whom Sam always promised that one day he would give the brightest star in the universe), but especially in the last period he seemed more and more solitary and taken from his studies. He wanted to enter one of the most prestigious faculties of astronomy in the United States, the admission test was said to be virtually impossible to overcome without having knowledge inside, but Sam did not give up and continued to study. "I want to know what's up there Dean" he always repeated in front of his brother's puzzled looks.

 

He was completely different. He had always been a lively child, full of energy and with a spicy and rebellious character. The theory preferred practice, books preferred the raids with friends, the commitment preferred the blow and go.

Popular at school, popular at parties, popular in the principal's office.

After college he had declared his relationship with the books definitively finished and with no possibility of returning, and he had found work as a barman at his Aunt Ellen's sister's sister's premises, and was pleased. The Roadhouse. Beautiful chickens in plain sight, a nice cup always available, possibility to chat and flirt ; at least when Aunt Ellen did not recall the order and decor with a nice whisk of tea towel on the backside .His soul of conqueror had no limits and, not without some qualms, but he had to surrender to the fact that ... yes, he also liked men.

He had not had many experiences in this regard: his self, on the one hand was extremely rebellious and libertine, on the other hand resounded with the rather rigid education received from his father, and did not allow him to live the thing naturally and simply. But he could not complain. He also knew how to do it with men. But nobody knew this. Dean had not yet managed to come out, he had never found anyone worth doing, and he continued to live with this little big secret hidden in his heart.

The years had passed, life in the town flowed quietly.

Sam had not only been admitted to the university he longed to attend, but was soon to graduate at only 24 with an enviable average; sometimes, to see him radiant after every telescope exploration of which he now knew every smallest gear, Dean really seemed to have his brother have a whole universe of light clasped in his hands.

 

\-------- -------- xx

 

They had called them all as angels and archangels, in the Novak family. His father's name was Emmanuel

, his name meant "God with us", he was not a believer but he decided to honor such an important name, and so he and his wife Naomi had put together a small team of heavenly creatures , Michael, Raphael, Lucifer, Zachariah, Samandriel, Gabriel and Castiel. They were all blond, with many shades of blond, yes, from the northern of Michael to the ash of Lucifer, except the smallest; Castiel was born with a thick dark mop that had not changed over the years and now framed his beautiful delicate face, on which stood two wonderful and immense turquoise eyes.

Castiel had always been a very shy child. When his father returned from his business trips, he faced a mass of screaming kids who ran to meet him to fill him with sticky kisses; then, out of the corner of his eye, he could see the little Castiel leaving in fourth with his brothers but halfway, as if caught by too much emotion in seeing his father again, he was behind and went to hide behind the sofa; and there his father had to go and look for him, finding him sucking his finger but with a radiant smile and brightening his face. Silent, quiet and thoughtful, he had demonstrated intelligence beyond the norm, he read and wrote at age 3 and during the first year of primary school teachers had tried to give him tasks of three upper classes, which he had performed without beating. eyelid.

His IQ turned out to be 130, well above average. Soon he had begun to participate in state physics and mathematics championships, since early adolescence, taking home at least one podium every time. He was doing the math homework of the college siblings and in the evening, instead of relaxing by reading a book, he invented pages of equations and solved them. His mother ruffled his ebony hair when he found him immersed in his studies

"Hey my little angel on Thursday, dinner is ready !!", and one of his brothers did not miss the opportunity to rub the book under his nose and hide it somewhere. He was fascinated above all by physics and chemistry, by ancient experiments of the past that had never been completed or proved invalid, but that, in his opinion, one could very well have resumed with the technological means of the modern era and then retried. His brothers in most cases did not give much importance to being called with names of angels, indeed, for some of them was a nuisance when in school, if they saw them in a group, the companions giggling, pointing out:

"Here comes the heavenly band!! ", or" Hey little angels, I need this miracle today ".

Castiel, on the other hand, had taken the matter seriously, and had begun to research the angels, their existence, where they lived.

It seems to be the ether.


	3. Chapter 3

_Birmingham, England, year 1678_  
  
The young Garth Fitzgerald IV was looking at the sky from the tiny castle room.  He was tired.  Last night he had to stay in the laboratory until late with his teacher, Dr. Huygens, who was conducting experiments on the propagation of light in space with his circle of certified friends.  
  
They had come to recognize the oscillatory motion, in short, according to them the light was like a wave that spread (in a manner similar to the waves of the sea or the acoustic ones) in a material medium, which they had defined as "ether".  
  
There were still many questions: How exactly was this ether?  Was it solid, liquid or gaseous?  Was he still or moving?  And the light of the stars?  What did the ether help or hinder it from getting to us?  There was talk of astronomical distance ...  
  
Garth had studied that already for the Greeks the universe was made of ether.  Plato talked about it in his "Phaedo", stating that the ether was above the Earth and had the form of a dodecahedron, whose numerological significance implied a correspondence with the 12 signs of the zodiac.  
  
Garth was teasing the idea of the existence of parallel or superior worlds above our Earth.  
  
He had also studied Aristotle, who believed that the ether was the quintessence of the celestial world, which was eternal, immutable, weightless and transparent.  
  
   
And he had read that many philosophers, of various theoretical, religious and historical extractions, over the years had defined it as the universal medium that filled the space, through which everything spread and everything connected.  
  
   
Even by some the ether was considered as a vital force conservative of memory, "biological memory", "constitutive element of the soul of the world".  
  
   
  
From some of his alchemist friends he had also heard of ether as a basic compound of the philosopher's stone, a mysterious object capable of changing the metal into gold and making immortality, and he heard them confabulating strange experiments with sulfur and mercury in order to  find an answer to what they were looking for.  In short, damn, this ether seemed a serious matter.  
  
   
  
Garth was a man of science, he did not believe much in these bizarre theories of eternal youth.  The firm theories that his teacher made him memorize on the motion of the celestial bodies and the light around them were much better.  
  
   
  
But that evening, looking at the stars that slowly rose in the dark sky, he thought it would be really nice to be immortal.  Who knows, maybe posterity could have enjoyed it thanks to their experiments.  He turned, approached his oak desk, and full of pride and goodwill, began to write on the parchment a detailed account of what they had discovered the night before.  
  
   
  
_***** Cleveland, Ohio, Case Western Reserve University, October 5, 1881_  
  
   
  
Dr. Singer was lying under a maple tree covered in the first reds of autumn, in the campus courtyard.  With a blade of grass in his mouth, he waited for his colleague, Dr. Kripke, and in the meantime he looked at the cobalt blue sky, losing himself in its immensity.

Every time he saw the stars he was seized with a shiver, because probably the light he saw belonged to a star that had already died for millennia; the universe had always been his great passion, and now he was teaching physics in that same university and in his free time he was experimenting with his colleague, in the hope that, as it were, he would have been able to change the history of the modest university physics in some way.  And not just physics.  
  
   
  
The speed of light was its woodworm.  
  
   
  
The wave theory of light, which is still referred to in the world of science, dated back to 1678 on the basis of the experiments of a certain Dr. Huygens;  it required a hypothetical medium that they called all ether, that could drag the light like a current drag a boat or wind the sound waves.  
  
   
  
"Wind of ether": he had always liked this definition.  He considered it poetic and intriguing, and in his fantasies he imagined this crystalline but dense air that ran up and down all the corners of the universe, tickling the stars and illuminating the most hidden planets.  
  
Behind these pragmatic thoughts, however, Dr. Singer concealed a more dreamer and possibilist soul: somewhere he had read the word "philosopher's stone" and "immortality" connected to the ether's composition, and the idea of being able to discover the  first spark of a change that had upset humanity ... well, it teased him a little.  
  
That afternoon in October he was waiting for Dr. Kripke because the latter would bring him the last necessary tools to build his "interferometer";  he had called it that because - ironically speaking - he could not wait to put his nose and annoy this wind of ether to force him to show himself and crown their theories.  
  
   
  
"Colleague!"  
  
Here is the voice of Dr. Kripke, who appeared behind him with two suitcases from which two long objects came out.  
  
   
  
The two walked through the university corridors lined with huge arches and Dr. Singer inhaled the familiar familiar smell of paper, brick and wood, which was one of his favorites.  
  
   
  
Their laboratory was next to what was used for the experiments carried out during the lessons: the two physicists had built a small niche in which to give vent to their nature as mad scientists, as they liked to define themselves.  
  
"To us two, wind of ether !!! Dr. Singer muttered, and they began to arrange around the table the tools necessary for the experiment, the mirrors, a detector and a beam of light.  
  
The two scientists were full of hope, but that evening they did not have the answers they expected: they had hypothesized that a possible wind of ether would have involved a different speed of light in the various directions but, even after numerous attempts, not only that evening,  they had no evidence of interference.  
  
   
"And yet there must be, there must be ..." Dr. Singer brooded.  
  
After a few days of attempts, with larger mirrors, beams of light more intense and under various angles, they had not yet reached their goal.  
  
   
"I think we'll have to give up, Robert," Dr. Kripke said dejectedly before the umpteenth failure.  "There is no ether".  
  
"Oh come on, still some attempts ..."  
  
But now even Dr. Singer was abandoning his hopes of seeing the experiment he had done in so much, realized, but, as you know, a scientist must also give up and accept that he had ... wrong.  
  
  "The last one, only the last one ..." came up again, and he was about to start the umpteenth trial, that morning, when he saw a breathless Dr Kripke arrive, with dark circles and in a state of great agitation.  
  
  "What's up, Eric?"  
  
"Do not do it.  We really leave this experiment "  
  
"What are you crazy about?"  
  
"I ... I had a dream last night"  
  
"What kind of dream?"  
  
"We were ... well, we were doing our experiment, and suddenly we were no longer doing it, but someone else.  I saw the scene and could not interact, do you understand? "

 Dr. Singer nodded, frowning.

"At one point I heard a rumble, like a thunder or something that rolled .. somewhere ... and then ...." and here took a breath "I heard screaming.  A man, a man shouted, and they were screams of pain and supplication.  Robert was terrible.  I woke up trembling and ... "

"Oh my friend" Dr. Singer objected "I admit it's a disturbing dream but ... it's a dream! What could it mean?"

"I do not know ... maybe ... our experiment ... it must not be done ... maybe the ether must not be discovered ... maybe in the future it will be used for unorthodox purposes and I ..."

"This dream is absurd, Eric.  You know well that we have not found anything "

"I still have a terrible feeling Robert.  I do not care what you think but I stop here "

Dr. Kripke was adamant even in the following days.  The mysterious dream kept coming back every night and he was more and more determined to beg his colleague to let it go.

Dr. Singer was troubled by this anxiety of his colleague, he was transmitting it to him as well;  now decided to throw behind this failure, that evening, sighed and picked up the last mirror to put it back in the bag.

"Eric .... at least we leave written what we did ..." the colleague pleaded.

"All right, all right.  I will write down everything that we have done and observed, or rather, not observed, "he replied absently.

That evening he sat down at his desk and opened the first page of a leather-bound file.  He dipped his pen in the inkwell and wrote.

_ Colorado Springs, 1960 _

Bartholomew Winchester sat on the porch of his cottage and slowly sipped some whiskey as he watched a storm approach the horizon.  Lightning ripped through the sky in violet and silvery flares, and Bartholomew surrendered every time to the power of nature.

   
His son John was playing on the back, when his father called him to go home.

"It's going to come a storm son, it's better if you enter"

"You do not come dad?"

"I'm going to the lab, will I see you tonight?  Obey your mother and do not expect me awake. "

That said, he got up, brought the whiskey home and placed it in the green glass cabinet where he kept the alcohol.  Then, he put on his black coat and went out, while the first drops of rain began to wet the ground.

John looked at him from the window.  He knew that his father liked to conduct strange experiments in secret, parallel to his banal daily use of banking clerk.

He did not know what it was.  His father never took him with him.  He always saw him walk towards the gigantic, newly built hilltop plant, from which electricity was supplied throughout the city and even to nearby cities.

He often returned late at night.  John was hiding under the stairs to try to understand something more, praying not to be discovered.

"Someday I'll understand what you're doing, Daddy," the child had said, coming back to his room and throwing himself on the bed.

   
Bartholomew never imagined that a casual reading, in the old library of the city, would have triggered such a spark in him by awakening the potential scientist that was in him.

   
From the circumstances of his life he had been forced to accept a humble, monotonous, flat work in the bank: signing bills, stamping, disbursing money.  Every day, all day.

But Bartholomew liked science, damn well.  And the planets, and the universe.  And the forces of nature.  That day, in the library where he went to be able to update on scientific discoveries in the world, he had accidentally read an article of an old experiment carried out in 1881 by such Singer and Kripke, on the existence or not of the ether.

By documenting himself better, Bartholomew had been very fascinated by the idea of a mysterious energy that permeated the universe, this "ether", and even if the experiment carried out years ago had failed, he had begun to take more interest in  topic.

Who knows, perhaps with the means available in that new century, could have discovered something.  Who knows, perhaps this ether could have proved to be an inexhaustible and powerful source of energy.

His thoughts began to gallop, and that evening he went to the old phone booth of the town to contact his acquaintance Sebastian Rochè, whom he called a "mad scientist in disguise", and who worked as the coordinator of the technicians who worked at the power plant  of the city.

"Hey man," said Sebastian, surprised. "We have not been in touch for a while.  What do you have to tell me, do you have any news, have you discovered that you have an oil well at the back of your yard? "He continued sarcastically.

Bartholomew could not hold back a sneer.

"No ... better."

For almost a year now, Bartholomew and Sebastian were secretly working on their ether discovery project.

Sebastian had made available a corner of the plant where only he could have access, and had begun to conduct their experiments.

By now they had established the existence in nature of energy fields, of free energy, and according to Bartholomew it was precisely this mysterious ether that was mentioned centuries ago in many theories and cultures.

   
And through the ether, they had discovered, other forms of energy could be transmitted.  For example, electricity could be transmitted to distant locations without the need for electrical conducting wires.

"We could take advantage of the ionosphere" Sebastian explained, more and more excited by the latest discoveries "There is an electric potential that we could exploit to get free electricity, and, trust me, it would be an inexhaustible resource ..  with the right equipment ... "

"Think a little, the earth could become a giant electric transmitter, communicate and transmit power through the earth's crust, and send it to various stations arranged all over the globe ... damn I have not yet thanked you for thinking of me, Bartholomew  , to implement all this ... "

 

"You have Sebastian, I already see your eyes shine like two pure gold dollars," laughed Bartholomew.  Then he came back serious.  "Come on, we're wandering too much with my mind, It's all still on the companion card ... we'll have to work hard to see it done ... and hope that there are not ... ehm ... side effects ..."

Bartholomew every night, when he lay down, he never failed to wonder how his ethics and his morals were fading in front of a project that could become a motive of extreme wealth and notoriety.

   
Sometimes he wanted to go back and never find that book about Singer and Kripke's experiment.  Great results always require great prices, he knew.  He felt himself on the edge of the wave, he could take a step backwards, he was confused, but on the other hand he felt inextricably linked to this project.

   
His confusion and doubts escalated when, one evening, in one of the usual electrical conducting experiments, they had noticed that Sebastian's cat, who was always wandering around the laboratory, watching lazily and slyly their machines, had begun to  give signs of imbalance.  As a really quiet cat, he had suddenly started running, jumping and becoming aggressive.  Then come back quietly when Sebastian brought him home.

Or when, in the course of an experiment, they had blown the current of half Colorado Springs and sweated cold in fear of being discovered.

Or when they expanded an old drainage channel that ran down the mountain below the plant to let us run the energy bundles, and during an experiment they burned trees around the end of the drainage channel, where they had placed a receiver.

Now it was becoming increasingly difficult for them to carry out experiments because people had begun to murmur that strange things were happening at the plant, they saw explosions and flashes of light during the night, and everything was starting to attract the attention of the authorities.

One evening Sebastian turned to his colleague who was strangely taciturn.

"A million dollars for your thoughts," he told him, giggling as he connected two wires.

"I thought ... and if they find us ... if they break in here while we're ..."

"Friend, leave it to me.  I have already thought about this eventuality and I have already prepared a secret escape route.  If it happens, you just follow me "

"But where would this escape route be? You have to tell me about Sebastian too"

"Ha ha ha ... trust your old friend.  Trust us to get out of here in the blink of an eye and no one will find us. "

Bartholomew sighed and nodded ruefully.

John saw his father increasingly tense, more than one night he had tried to follow him, but then he was assailed by the fear of being alone in the woods at those nocturnal hours, and he was always behind.  Sometimes he found his parents discussing, late at night, his mother asking what the hell he did every night at the station, and Bartholomew always denied everything with greater rage.  
   
  Then one day hell broke out, half of central was burned at night. John had awakened with his mother's screams. "The central burns !!!" And he had suddenly risen with his heart in his throat fearing his father had died in the fire.

But no, Bartholomew, was in the house, and looked blankly at the smoke rising behind the hill.

Since that day, the plant was closed for security reasons, the father did not go out more in the evening, and at home Winchester an almost normal life began to take its course.

Bartholomew Winchester died at the age of 84 a few days before his first nephew, Dean, came to light.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

__ Sooooo....heavy chapter I imagine ... I hope you have understood something ... I sweated blood to write it as simply as possible ... but given the argument certainly will still be a bit heavy!  pardon!!!

The first thing to say is that all these experiments have really been done.  Only of course the scientists were not called Kripke and Singer but Michelson and Morley, and for the whole part of Bartholomew's experiment I was inspired by the real discoveries of Nikola Tesla, one of the greatest scientists of all time whose works have been  hidden due to conflict of interest.  In short, I played freely with these discoveries in favor of my plot.

Obviously we will know what happened to the plant, and the discourse of the potential of the ether will be expanded and resumed.

   
Maybe I could have skipped the first part, on Garth and the very first experiment attempted on the existence of the ether, but I liked to start everything from the beginning.

I am sorry that this chapter is not in the least Destiel, but I thought it necessary.  Quiet that the Destiel is at the door .but I repeat, this fic does not revolve around only the Destiel, remember it XD

Ok now slaughter me on the boring chapter XD

ps: do not ask me why I thought of our Balthazar in the role of a mad scientist

 

 

  
 _  
_  
  
  



	4. Please, let him stay at the counter

At the age of 28, Castiel Novak had received his first chair at the university, in the faculty of physics and also in that of chemistry. He had graduated in physics two years before with honors, with a thesis on the concept of ether in electromagnetism, and had carried out a specialization course on the organic chemistry of ethers.

But in parallel with the most scientific studies, he had never abandoned his private research on how ether could be the place where supernatural creatures and angels lived.

Castiel considered himself a sort of "occult scientist": he studied the forces and laws of chemistry and physics, of course, but for him these forces were nothing other than intelligent beings, of different degrees, inferior or superior to man. These forces guided and directed the most basic beings, and they did it through ether; the angels, Castiel had read, were the most skilled and expert in manipulating the ether, and he was firmly convinced of their existence. This is why his greatest dream was to see one angel appear one day during his experiments.

He dreamed of being able to see or recreate this vaporous and impalpable essence, and to see us appear in a globe of intense golden light. Castiel had also read the Bible, and in the book of the Hebrews it was said that man had been made slightly inferior to the angels, and dreamed that one day the earth would return to an etheric state, so that man could again be filled with angelic essence.

These were the dreams and experiments that the young chemist conducted in the secret of his mind and his laboratory on campus, but he also loved to transmit his passion for what he had studied scientifically to young undergraduates, slightly younger than him.

His beauty had not gone unnoticed; his tuft of rebellious black hair that had been his particularity since he was a child had not changed; as every morning before the mirror tried to keep them in place, her tufts of ebony escaped to the right and left and when they became longer, they were ringing in soft curls; her best friend Anna loved to turn them over in her fingers and pouted when Castiel cut her hair.

"The angels have curls do you know?" He teased, and Castiel laughed, shrugging. It was the evening before his first class at the university and Castiel was a little nervous. He was in jeans and shirtless, sitting on the window ledge, sipping his beer and looking at the sky. Anna was on the sofa to finish the toenail polish. They had been living together for a couple of years now, as roommates had become great friends and then best friends.

But their relationship had never gone beyond, because Castiel was gay and Anna was a lesbian. However, theirs was a very close, almost fraternal friendship.

"With those two sapphire gems that you find yourself in the place of the eyes, you will make a slaughter of hearts in the faculty you know?"

She had said trying to reassure him. He always succeeded. To reassure him.

With her innocent and somewhat naive way of seeing life, Anna was able most of the time to dispel the fogs and convoluted thoughts that often took possession of Castiel's mind.

"You think too much" he always told him.

And indeed it was all very well. His lessons were followed by young girls who hung from his lips and competed to those who asked more questions during the lessons, but also by the boys, fascinated by this young man so smart and even a little gleeful of how he monopolized the attention of every girl of the course.

His hours of reception were characterized by a small crowd outside his office, a woman who made up her makeup while waiting, and a man full of papers and notes because ... yes, Professor Novak was really good and it was nice to discuss with he of what he taught. He saw his passion, his dedication. And then Castiel, besides being beautiful, was also a good person.

A very humble, simple, but also determined boy, who strongly believed in the values of the common good, in the theory that if you give 100, 200 you will receive. The fact of having grown up in a large family, had led him as a child to see everything from the perspective of sharing and mutual aid, could not conceive of self-centeredness, avarice, conflict at all costs.

Certainly he too many people were unpleasant and would do without them willingly, but tried to see everything as a goal of a greater good that was put before personal likes or dislikes.

Castiel always tried to carve out at least an hour a day to continue his experiments on the ether, but that evening his friends had convinced him to leave his university lab and, on the occasion of one of their birthday, to pass the evening in a place in an area opposite the city, but where they said they ate the burgers and drank the best cocktails in the area.

Castiel went out into the courtyard of his house that was already dark and set the navigator with the address they had given him: Roadhouse, 168 Steward Street.

 

 

That evening Dean had no desire to work.  
The night before had been his free evening and he was late in a pub with one of his "taps and fugues", and now he was absentmindedly passing the rag on the counter, looking at the watch that, unfortunately, unfortunately gave him the prospect of still many hours before you can touch a pillow.  
That evening also had a birthday, damn, that is a large number of people to serve together as quickly as possible, more shouting, more need to interact with customers and maybe have to participate in some joke. He puffed nonchalantly as Aunt Ellen yelled at him from the back of the shop to prepare a dozen strawberry capiroske as an aperitif. 

The place was already full, and his cousin Jo was accompanying the birthday guests to the long table that had been prepared to the art; Dean, while shaking ice, saw an indistinct mass of boys approaching the table laughing and jostling.

"Idiots" sighed Dean, but continued to do what he had been asked. Shortly thereafter, with his arms full of dishes, he was serving the boys in a hurry one by one, who did not deign to look at him and kept laughing and talking to the neighbor, except one.

When Dean put the plate in front of him, this boy turned and smiled at him. "Thank you," he whispered to his lips, without trying to overcome the noise of the music and the clamor.

Dean never knew if it was a coincidence or fate, but he thanked the heaven that this was the last dish he had served, because otherwise he would have surely dropped everything to the ground.

What he had said "Thank you" was the most wonderful creature that Dean had seen in all his life. He thanked the darkness, because he was sure he had turned red and his legs were shaking like jelly. 

My God, it was beautiful. And he had not even identified him perfectly, because of the darkness and the strobe lights. But he had already understood that it was beautiful.

A perfect face. Dark hair jammed to art that screamed sex. Two blue pearls like eyes. His heart throbbed in his chest, not even the battery of a heavy metal complex. The boy immediately turned to his plate, and Dean realized he was standing there.  
A shot of his aunt's rag made him awaken, but by now his predatory instinct had been awakened. That boy must have been his, and quickly. He did not take his eyes off him all evening, for what he could, serving mechanically and absently.

He was about to ask his cousin if he could give him information on who they were, if they were here, maybe the name of those who had booked ... but HE was faster. Dean was turned from behind to hastily wash glasses, and when he turned around he was at the counter, and he looked at him smiling.

"Hi, can I ask you another beer? Dark, maybe."

And he smiled. He always smiled, that guy, Dean thought. His tongue had stopped and the saliva dried in his mouth to find him there like that, but he nodded and served him the beer.

" offers the house" he managed to say, and in the meantime he thought obsessively "Let him stay at the counter let him stay at the counter" ...

"Thanks, it's very kind of you". The guy pressed his lips to the glass, Dean followed the sweet curve of the neck that rose as he drank, and the beer droplets on his lips, the white shirt open, the thin fingers that held the glass and ... My God, he was already going crazy.

"Not .... you are not from this area? I've never seen you ... "he then asked.

"Mmmm ... no ... we're in the St. Lasbury neighborhood ... but they told us about this place ... and indeed ... that hamburger was delicious" and winked at him.

Dean had to stand at the counter not to jump on him at the same time. Unfortunately at that moment some friends of the boy arrived, visibly tipsy, who put an arm around his shoulders.

"Hey professor, what are you doing here all alone, come to the table".

"I was not here all alone," said the boy, in a tone that Dean identified as vaguely sensual, also because while he was saying he was staring straight at Dean.  
"Well ... here I think I should go back to the table or they do not leave me alone ... thanks for the beer .... mmm ... ???".

"Dean".

"Pleased Dean, I'm Castiel".

A particular name for a particular creature. A particular name that Dean immediately grasped could be his luck in trying to find him, because he had the absolute certainty that he would track it down. He sighed, trying to calm his breath as he returned to wash the glasses.

Then a flash. What had those guys said ?? Professor?

 

 

 

 

 

 

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	5. Agent 007

It  wastoo simple.

That same night, back from work, he sat at the computer enjoying a cold beer, to look for information on the beautiful boy he just met.

He was rather amazed at himself; generally he would not have let the opportunity escape at the moment, starting to conquer his object of desire, there and now.

Instead he realized that he had been so dazzled, both by the beauty but also by the aura of serenity and positivity that the boy was emanating, that all his reconcilers as a bold conqueror had gone haywire.

And now he was there, looking at the picture of the wonderful Castiel Novak ("even the surname has particular!" Thought Dean),  professor of the Department of Physical and Chemical Sciences of the University of Colorado Springs.

"Thank God for the search engines" he thought with a little smile as he closed the computer and lay down in bed, exhausted by emotions.

He could not sleep that night. Thoughts came and went like waves even in half-sleep, floating in a sea of blue.

"A professor? Sigh, he will never want an ignorant like me. " ...

"A young professor, though ..." ...

"How can I introduce myself to the university?".

"What can I tell him?" .. "

I follow him?" ...

"I leave a note?". .. "

Oh come on, what the hell is it, Winchester? 

The same worms had not left him that same morning, when he went off to the campus with feigned indifference.

Dean realized that he had probably never had as many questions in his life as in the last twelve hours.

Just as, he realized, he had probably not woken up so early in the morning for years. It was just nine o'clock, the air was sparkling, and he sipped his coffee against a wall, carefully observing who entered and left the Department of Physical and Chemical Sciences.

Almost an hour passed. Dean had wrapped himself more and more in his jacket as the air was getting colder, it was late October after all, when something caught his attention.

The first thing he saw was a group of girls running around hiding behind bushes, giggling, and two others passing by, brushing their noses out.

The second thing he saw, it was him,Castiel Novak ... who was walking a few meters away from him with a black shoulder bag and a slightly wrinkled beige trench, hurrying to the university. His heart rolled in his chest and then in his throat.

My God, he was beautiful.

He felt the blood rumbling in his ears with emotion. Unfortunately, the  girls were faster than him.

"Professor Novaaaakkk ... would have a moment to explain ..." and then their voices waned, and the door closed.

Dean realized he was holding his breath.

The only thing he would have wanted at that moment would have been throwing himself on the ground to catch his breath, looking at the sky and not getting up anymore. But heck, by now he had the certainty that Castiel was in the building, and as he had entered it, he must also come out. And Dean was not about to give up.

Around noon, he saw Castiel come out, surrounded by a few colleagues presumably, and from that moment on he put in place all the espionage techniques learned from a life spent watching crime movies and thrillers, crawling from plant to plant, calculating the time to follow him without being seen, pretending indifference to the people who looked at him puzzled.

"Damn it has a good training," he murmured in a heap after a half hour of walking.

Castiel had stopped at a grocery store, from which he soon emerged with a full bag. He entered a bookshop, to go out with a blue booklet that he began to read practically walking. Dean rolled his eyes. "My God, a nerd !!".

But finally, Castiel stopped in front of a cream and peach duplex house, and looked for something in the bag. The keys, probably. He entered the house.

"Now comes the hardest part, Winchester," Dean told himself, and looked around for any shrub where he could hide while he could spy into the house. Fortunately he immediately saw a tree that was right for him and, praying that nobody saw him, he began to crawl over it, until he reached a decent lookout position, towards what was supposed to be the living room.

There he is.  
He had changed;  now she was wearing a very homely gray overalls that made him look even more tender, which seemed almost a couple of plus sizes given the way he would fall on his thin but toned body.  
He saw him pull out of the bag of milk, yoghurt and apples ("Help! healthy!"), But the blood froze in his heart when he saw a girl with red hair down the stairs in shorts and tank top and give a  kiss on the cheek to Castiel.  
  
Damn.

He had to imagine that Castiel was already happily engaged and above all, straight.  He let out an oath, letting the disappointment spread inside him like frozen water.  He had to imagine it.  He had to imagine it.  
  
The only sensible thing to do would be to get off instantly and immediately turn around, and delete the "Castiel Novak" file from his mind.  
But he could not help but stand there, watching the two boys in the house giggle and jostle, and after a while 'sit at the table watching distractedly the TV.  
Damn it, damn it.  
"Do you need anything ?!"  
Almighty God.  
Dean looked down and saw a middle-aged lady with an apron on and a broom in her hands, and Dean's first thought was that he would pull it over his head.  Instead he noticed that the lady was using it to collect piles of dried leaves in the garden.  
Sje stared at him grimly and curiously at the same time.  
Dean began to slide off the trunk.  
"Oh no, sorry, I ... know ... I ... I do bird watching and ... I thought I saw ... a ... kind of ..." and did not know what to say  , making an innocent grin.  
The lady shook her head, mumbling something, and started sweeping the leaves again.  
Dean returned home.  
  
A few days passed.  But what did not pass was Dean's blue-permeated mind.  Every evening at the club he hoped to see him come in, every morning he said he would go to the university, but he did not.  
That day he had gone to dinner with his brother.  


"What's wrong,Dean?" You look absent, "Sam told him, biting his soy burger.  


"Mmmm no .... I'm just a bit tired ... about it ... how are your studies going?".  


"I finished Dean, you know ... now ... I was looking around to look for a job".  


"In Colorado Springs ... Come on ... emigrate little brother ... go to a better place ... you with your head you will come far ...".  


"Mmmmm but why Dean? I'm tied to our city and if I could make available my knowledge for some good company or some good project ....",  


"Nobody knows what to do with stars here," Dean mumbled.  


"Hey, what's wrong with you ???"  Sam was starting to get tired of his brother's irritating manner that evening.  Clearly his thoughts were elsewhere.  
"

Nothing Sam, I already told you".  


A few moments of silence followed.  Sam began to leaf through a newspaper that was on the table without particular interest.  
"

"Uh" he said after a while, "It seems they reopen the old plant".  


"For what??".  


"I do not know .. here says that a private person has won a tender for the management and that probably will be put back into operation ...".  


At that moment Dean remembered that sometimes, when he was in the woods maybe for a run or a morning walk, he heard strange noises in that area.  As if they were already building or restoring something.  


"They've already started working on me," he exclaimed.  


"But if everything is still half destroyed? The area is still fenced and desolate".  


Dean shrugged .  


A few minutes of silence followed.  
"Dean, now I have to go ... Jessica is waiting for me at home ... remember that for anything your old little brother is ready to listen to you ok?".  


"Thanks, bitch"  


"Fuck you, jerk", and with a chuckle, Sam left the room.  


.  


"Fuck," Dean murmured to himself tightly, paid the bill and started running.  
In the direction of Castiel's house.  


"Now I ring the bell and fuck it, fuck it!" He panted in the race, as if the foul language could give him strength.  
  
It was now dusk, and luckily the lights of Castiel's house shone faintly against the darkened sky.  


"Here, now I find them flirting in the living room while a hot soup cooks in the kitchen," thought Dean, and, despite his initial ideas had gone full speed, he decided to make a last stalking to better analyze the situation and understand how to hit in the  less harmful way.  


He saw a shadow at the window, and he barely had time to lower himself.  Creeping almost to the ground, hedged in hedges, he went all the way round to get to the back, and noting that the lights were off, he made for a return on the front.  


While he was on all fours to reach the last bush, the door of the house opened, and a silhouette, that silhouette, yes, just his, appeared on the illuminated threshold.

Dean was on all fours among the dry leaves, and he prayed that at that moment a chasm would open to swallow him in the depths of the earth.  
He could not do anything but look up, to see a Castiel with a face amused and softly snap fingers as recognition, and then his warm and kind voice say "Dean, right?"   



End file.
